


Thin Air

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Anger, Arguing, Banter, Caretaking, Caring, Commercials, Conference Meetings, Explanations, Fluff and Crack, Help, Hiccups, Humor, I had way too much fun with this, Markiplier TV, Multiple Selves, Problems, Surprises, Teasing, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 01:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Dark is ambushed by a mortal enemy—the only one he can’t fight alone. The others try their hardest to save him, but his fate remains unclear.(Alternative Title: "Dark Gets A Case of the Hiccups")





	Thin Air

As soon as it happened, Dark decided that the corrupting force maintaining his body could simply release him then and there, letting him shatter apart into oblivion. It would be better than living with the humiliation of knowing that he had just _hiccupped_ in the middle of a meeting.

Wilford had stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the little squeak, forgetting all about the pitch he was making for another Markiplier TV commercial. Whirling away from the television, he demanded curiously, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Dark snapped, more defensively than he should have. “Continue.”

That Wilford did, but not on the pitch. “Was that what I think it was?” he persisted, a delighted grin lighting his face. “Did you just—?”

“No. _Hch_.” The second soft squeak hit the back of his throat and he couldn’t press his lips together fast enough to stop it.

Dr. Iplier immediately leaned on the table to see past the Host, peering at Dark in dubious amusement. “That was definitely what you thought it was, Will,” he announced, to which Wilford promptly burst out with his signature heaving guffaws. Dark clenched his hands together so tightly on the tabletop that he was sure some bones in his fingers might fracture.

“Wilford…” he growled, the creaking and ringing of his aura tinged with a clear note of menace. Unfortunately, if _anyone_ could ignore how dangerous that was, it was Wilford, who kept laughing as the others glanced around at each other in varying stages of disbelief.

“I didn’t know Dark could even get the hiccups!” Bim exclaimed, shaking his head.

“They aren’t hiccups,” Dark insisted, trying to swallow the next one unsuccessfully. He knew that the more he argued, the more obvious it became that they were, in fact, the one inexplicable mortal enemy to his dignity—the only one he couldn’t murder.

“Irritation of the nerves that extend from the neck to the chest can cause hiccups,” Dr. Iplier commented. “Dark, have you been cracking your neck too often? I notice you’ve been doing it a lot lately.”

“That isn’t the cause and even if it were, how I treat my own body is none of your concern, _Doctor_.”

“Alright, alright, just asking!” Dr. Iplier protested, waving him off and muttering in an undertone, “Come back and tell me that when you’re _dying_ , demon—”

“Well, we better cure ya…s-so you’re not makin’ little kitten noises all through the meeting!” Wilford gasped, perching on the table and hugging himself as he tried to recover from his laughing fit. Dark glowered at him, twitching with a near-silent hiccup, and when Will had collected himself, he beamed back, mischief gleaming in his eyes.

“Anyone have suggestions to help a demon out?” he prompted the others.

“Well, there’s an ol’ remedy I know,” Ed Edgar began. “You take some honey, ginger, fennel, dill and chamomile and you—”

“Too long, movin’ on!” Wilford cut him off, clearly uninterested. “Someone else?”

“We could try suffocating you,” Bim commented, instinctively reeling back in his seat at the venomous snarl Dark directed at him. “A-As in making sure you hold your breath, big guy! I’m not trying to kill you!” he stammered anxiously, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Jumping off a ten-story building headfirst could work,” Silver Shepherd mumbled, probably expecting to go unheard as usual.

“Well, that would certainly help the tension in his neck and chest,” Dr. Iplier snarked, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “There wouldn’t be anything left of him to be tense!”

“You never know. If anyone could survive that…”

“Well, hiccups are sort of breathy, aren’t they? You could eat some peanut butter, Dark, and it’d coat your throat and the roof of your mouth so they get sticky and it’d be harder for the hiccups to come out!” the King of the Squirrels pointed out hopefully.

“You— _hch_ —nauseate me,” Dark muttered, pinning his narrowed eyes on the far wall so he wouldn’t have to look at any of them.

“Maybe it’s not the hiccups! Maybe you’re being punched by a ghost!”

The eldest Ego let his eyes close briefly at that suggestion, sending a pointed look toward the door, where the brothers Jim were peering in. As always, Cameraman Jim was filming every moment and Reporter Jim was staring straight back at Dark, his eyes wide with intrigue.

“No ghost would dare,” he answered lowly, pressing his palms flat against the table and leaning toward them in a clearly threatening pose, letting his aura fluctuate around him like a cloud brewing a storm. The effect was somewhat diminished, however, when he jumped again, another lurching little breath caught in his throat. “ _Hch_.”

Wilford naturally started giggling again, though he was kind enough to muffle it with his hand this time, as the others promptly started arguing over the best means of dealing with this issue. Dark returned his eyes to the wall, pressing his lips together to no avail as a string of sharp hiccups bubbled up from his chest, fueling the chatter.

“You could pull on your tongue really hard!”

“That sounds painful!”

“Allow me to search for more effective human cures.”

“Oh, thanks, Google, pretend there isn’t a doctor in the _room!_ ”

“Well, clearly you aren’t performing your duties!”

“If you’d just let me finish tellin’ you about the herbal tea—”

“This is paranormal activity!”

“Has anyone suggested gargling salt water?”

“How about _clean_ water?”

“Yeah, which we can use to make the tea!”

“I’m telling you, the peanut butter would work wonders!”

“Do we have any lemons he could bite?”

“No, no, no, there are _way_ too many lemons around here, trust me—”

“The Host asks Dark to prove it.”

Dark glanced over sharply at that and a few of the others followed suit, surprised that the Host was only speaking up now. He paid them no mind, turned in his seat toward Dark with an expectant air.

“Excuse me?” Dark questioned impatiently.

“The Host asks Dark to prove it,” his friend repeated, a sly smile quirking his lips.

The others quieted, their eyes pinned on Dark. He let his own gaze fall to the table, his brows furrowing as he waited for the next hiccup to come, to prove that he was indeed suffering the age-old affliction.

It never came.

As Dark’s aura flickered in utter bewilderment at this change, the Host let his smile make its full debut, showing it off to the rest of them. “The Host has discovered that the condition has an aversion to performing on command. Unless—”

“ _Hch!_ ”

“—there is another nearby who is a more likely candidate for them,” the Host finished contentedly, chuckling lightly as Wilford clapped a hand over his mouth and flushed.


End file.
